


A Helping Hand

by Gelsey



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Gen, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1454473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelsey/pseuds/Gelsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Escaping a platoon of Jaffa had not been easy, and Sam needs help when she meets back up with the rest of her team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Triskellion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triskellion/gifts).



> Written for a kiss meme to the prompt of: Stomach kiss - SG1 Jack/Sam (and if you get in that little green tank top number from season one...) for Triskellion.

Sam couldn’t remember the last time she’d been helped out of her clothes. She didn’t count a hurried undressing just before sex, or the doctor helping her in the infirmary a few times after a mission. But Jack O’Neill was slowly, patiently, even tenderly helping her peel off her clothing, her own muscles too stiff from the evasion tactics she’d had to use earlier to escape a platoon of Jaffa when the team was separated. Skilled climber though she might be, hours of climbing and clinging to a ledge had left her barely able to lift her arms or legs.

Daniel was even worse off than she was, she knew, given his level of fitness compared to hers. Teal’c assisted him; Jack – O’Neill, she corrected her weary mind—had insisted on helping her. 

“Colonel… you don’t have to do this,” she murmured, knowing her weariness practically slurred her words and not caring. As always, he ignored her, setting aside her jacket and equipment and kneeling in front of her. 

“Fer cryin’ out loud, Carter, someone has to make sure you don’t fall over and hurt yourself further,” he muttered in his cranky way, but his hands remained gentle and efficient as he worked at her belt. To a stranger, he probably would have seemed utterly professional and impersonal, simply doing his duty.

Sam could feel his hands shake. She knew better. That interplay of tension that lived between them fairly hummed under her exhaustion. Her hands rested weakly on his shoulders as he tugged her pants down, and she whimpered faintly as the cloth passed over various scrapes and bruises she’d earned in her escape. She could feel the heat of his eyes, cataloging them and promising silent retribution for her hurts. But he didn’t linger, pushed himself onward and didn’t lay a single finger on her that wasn’t for the intent of helping her out with her problem.

She didn’t protest when his hands started to push up her green tank top. Regulation, but she’d heard more than her share of comments on the damn thing over the years, and the slight shift in the color of his eyes made her very aware that he had some of those very same opinions. He got as far as pushing it up just under her breasts when he finally faltered. Hands splayed lightly around her rib cage, and she shivered as she felt his shuddering breath against the sensitive skin of her stomach. 

“Jack…” she started to protest again, tried to stop whatever might start between them that would ruin everything. Ruin the team, ruin what they already did have. He shook his head slightly, and it was enough to silence her. For a long moment, nothing happened; he stayed kneeling, a statue, and then he crumbled slightly, head dipping in. His lips barely brushed her stomach, a tender and fleeting thing that nonetheless sent a spike of heat through her.

More than that, however, it sent a wave of tenderness through her. Her hands cradled his head as his forehead rested against her bare skin, her fingers carefully stroking the short strands. They stayed like that for a while. She wasn’t certain how long, gently holding onto each other. It ended with another sigh (she imagined she heard a very faint, “Sam” in it) and barely-there kiss, and then as if nothing had happened, he pushed her shirt up higher and stood creakily to help her maneuver her arms stiffly through the holes. He cursed his knees, and the familiarity made her lips quirk faintly. Fondly.

She couldn’t help groaning with the pain moving caused her. Sam held onto him carefully, fingers stiff and weak as well. Silently he helped her to clean up and medicate her scrapes and then dress in the clothes their hosts, the people of this planet who they were helping, had provided them with. He put her to bed with orders to sleep and heal, all business again, and she slumped exhaustedly into the pillow, so tired she was practically asleep already.

His no-nonsense briskness, however, was belied by the gentle hand on her hair before he turned and left. She was pretty sure, in her haze, that he stopped outside of her door, intent on guarding her even in sleep. Tomorrow, of course, nothing would be changed. They would never speak of it nor act on it.

But they both knew. It would have to be enough.


End file.
